50 Shades of Dr Sheldon Cooper
by andrewmann
Summary: Ana Steele has an interview with Nobel Prize winning physicist Dr. Sheldon Cooper. She falls heavily for him. Little does she know that the enigmatic Dr. Cooper is man with peculiar tastes and a traumatic past.


Oh crap, I hate my life. I hate my hair because it wouldn't stay in place. I hate my eyes because they're too big for my face. I hate my roommate because she's sick—seriously, it was so inconsiderate of her to get sick. I hate the fact that I should be studying for my exams but I'm not because I'm busy running errands for my sick roommate. Of course when I'm not busy running errands, I waste my time on the internet. And when I'm not running errands or surfing the web, I'm busy writing a novel about my life.

Woe is me.

Anyways, Kate Kavanagh, the aforementioned roommate, talked me into doing an interview with some Nobel Prize winning physicist who proved something about some theory about physics. She said it took her nine months to secure the interview and it would be hell to reschedule and blah bla-blah bla-blah. Hey, I did offer her a Nyquil in consolation but she insisted on me doing the interview instead.

That's Kate Kavanagh for you: head of the student paper, beautiful, charming, master manipulator, my best friend in the whole world.

So here I am, in Kate's Mercedes CLK, driving from San Diego to Pasadena, wishing I was home studying, wanting to shoot myself.

I park in front of an edifice of steel and glass. The building is massive, with transparent sheets of glass arrayed between unbending beams of steel; an architect's fantasy. Colour me impressed.

I push through two glass doors overarched by a steel plaque with the word "Sheldonopolis" inscribed on it. I find myself lost in an overbearingly large lobby—a lobby filled with steel and glass.

A perky bespectacled brunette flashes a chipmunk grin at me from behind the sandstone desk. The nameplate on her desk says "Aimee" with no last name. Aimee is wearing navy cardigan over a checkered plaid shirt. Her outfit makes me conscious of my getup: my one and only skirt over a blue sweater and brown knee boots.

"I am here to see Dr. Sheldon Cooper. Anastasia Steele on behalf of Katherine Kavanagh."

The chipmunk grin vanishes almost instantaneously. "I'm sorry," says Aimee, "Dr. Cooper is expecting a Ms. Kavanagh, not a Ms. Steele." Her words come out in a mechanical cadence. I'm starting to wonder if the brunette is an android—an android with a steel body and glass eyes.

"Yes I know," I say, struggling to keep my voice from trembling under the thudding of my heart, "but Ms. Kavanagh is unwell. She has sent me as her replacement."

"Oh bother," sighs Aimee. She leaps to her feet with a sudden thump and stomps towards a filing cabinet. "This is going to turn out worse than the time that New York Times reporter came in here with a Windows 8 tablet."

Upon her return, she drops an oversized clipboard on the sandstone desk. "Please answer the following questionnaire, Ms. Steele."

I glare at the sheets of paper. There are at least thirty pages. The clip holding the sheets together is clearly stretched to its limit.

"All of it?" I ask.

"Dr. Cooper values his schedule very highly, Ms. Steele. I hope you, and more importantly, Ms. Kavanagh understands."

I glance at the first page of the form. " Do you (the reporter) believe that String Theory is the only theory that unifies quantum mechanics with general relativity and that all other theories, including the Theory of the so-called Loop Quantum Gravity, are utter and complete hokum?"

"Just answer yes to all the questions," says Aimee, handing me a VISITOR pass. "Dr. Cooper's office is on the twentieth floor. The elevator's to your left. Have a pleasant day."

The elevator whisks me to another lobby—another lobby of steel, glass, and sandstone. I can't help but notice a pattern here. Even the receptionists look alike; same navy cardigan, same checkered plaid shirt, same oversized glasses. The nameplate on this desk is labelled "Aami". When I make eye contact with Aami, she flashes me the same creepy chipmunk grin. I'm starting to get the feeling I should leave.

But then I look out of the floor-to-ceiling window in Dr. Cooper's glass-walled meeting room. The view is nothing I had ever seen before: so many steel and glass skyscrapers penetrating the clear firmament. In spite of all the unsettling things about this place, I can't help myself. So much steel … so much glass … wow.

It is in this moment that I realize I know absolutely nothing about this Dr. Sheldon Cooper. Somehow, I had forgotten to ask Kate to give me a bio summary before agreeing to do this interview.

Get a grip, Steele. Judging from this building, with all of its steel and glass, Dr. Cooper should be in his forties and fit, with a tan, and blonde hair. And hot, totally hot.

Yup, that totally makes sense.

The office door opens and out comes a handsome Indian man with a round face and sharp eyes. I smile gingerly at him. When we make eye contact, he jumps a little, as though startled by a loud noise. He nods rapidly and scurries down the hall, adverting his gaze the whole time.

"Huh," I mutter to myself.

"Dr. Cooper will see you now, Ms. Steele," says Aami. "Do go through."

I muster all the courage I could find and make my way towards the open door.

"Wait."

I turn towards Aami.

"It is social decorum to knock before entering someone's private office," says Aami.

"But you said to go through."

"I assumed you had a proper understanding of social decorum. Clearly I assumed incorrectly."

I take a step back and knock on the door three times. "Dr. Cooper?"

No response.

I knock again. "Dr. Cooper?"

Nothing.

Three more knocks. "Dr. Cooper?"

I find Aami smirking at me, as though enjoying my predicament. I glower at her and push through the door, stumbling through and landing squarely on my jaw.

Oh double crap! My two left feet. That's surely not going to help my self image. I muster my nerves of steel to look up. Oh triple crap, he's looking at me. And he is HOT.

"Ms. Kavanagh." He extends a long bony hand to me. "I'm Dr. Sheldon Cooper. You seem hurt. May I offer you a hot beverage?"

He's hot. So hot. So tall, and sinewy. He's dressed in a checked blazer over a grey shirt and a red tie. His dark brown hair lays flatly on his head, not a strand is out of place. His dark steely eyes are fixed on me. No blinking, unwavering intensity.

"Uh actually—" And he's so young. I start to feel lightheaded. "I'm not Ms. Kavanagh. I'm—"

"Then you must have the wrong office," says Dr. Sheldon Cooper. "I was expecting a meeting with a Ms. Kavanagh."

"Ms. Kavanagh is indisposed," I say, straightening my skirt as I stand up. "She has sent me as her replacement. I hope you don't mind, Dr. Cooper."

Dr. Cooper cocks his head. His right eye begins to twitch. The right side of his lip quivers. I find myself completely frozen in his stare as if I were under the gaze of a gorgon—a gorgon with the body of an Adonis. He's so hot.

"Oh all right," says Dr. Cooper in a nonchalant tone. He pivots and makes his way towards his desk. He sits on a black leather executive chair and turns towards me. "And you are?" His voice sounds slightly amused, even warm.

"I'm Anastasia Steele, Dr. Cooper."

"That's a funny name," says Dr. Cooper. "Who's bright idea was it to name you that?"

"My … mother?" Oh quadruple crap, I'm totally going to die.

"Oh all right." Dr. Cooper waves me to a burgundy leather couch. "Have a seat."

I make my way around the left side of the couch and sit down.

"That's my spot."

I leap to my feet, my heart exploding from my chest. Dr. Cooper is staring at me with his steely impassive eyes. He is determined but calm. And smoking hot.

"Uh … what?" I manage to say.

"Don't sit there," says Dr. Cooper. "That's where I sit."

"But you're not sitting here right now; you're sitting on that chair." I regret my indiscretion immediately.

"It doesn't matter. That's my spot."

I flush. Is he teasing me? I hope so. "What difference does it make?"

"That spot is close enough to the window to get a good view of the Pasadena horizon while far enough to avoid catching a draft in the winter. It is situated directly across from the door granting me the fastest access to the facilities while close enough to my desk to give me a sense of comfort. From this vantage point I get full view my Amiibo figures placed here, here, and here, while also giving a direct line to the printer, thus allowing me to have fun while also being productive. I could go on and on but the most important point is this: this is my office, so I have placed this spot in a state of eternal dibs."

I feel every bone in my body melt. I had never been spoken to that way before. So authoritative and yet so collected. So unreasonable and yet so logical. I'm completely enthralled. With wobbly feet, I make my way to the other end of the couch.

"I presume you work on the same newspaper as Ms. Havanagh, Ms. Steele," says Dr. Cooper.

"No, I study English literature with Kate, uh, Katherine, um Ms. Havanagh, … in UCSD, uh …"

Dr. Cooper lets out a brusque chuckle. It sounds like the cross between a gasp and an hyena's yelp. "English literature …" he mutters. "Why did she send you and not one of her other associates from the school newspaper?"

"Um … I'm her roommate."

"Well, that hardly qualifies you as a reporter. Do you know the first thing about journalistic integrity?"

"Kate just has a way of getting me to do things for her. It's like we have some sort of implicit agreement or something."

Dr. Cooper looks at me coyly. "You mean like a roommate agreement?"

"Well …"

He turns his head skyward, gazing into the fluorescent ceiling lights. "I had a roommate once," he says. "We had a beautiful friendship—a friendship secured within the confines of a roommate agreement. How I miss those days."

I tuck an unruly strand of hair behind my ear to collect myself. Dr. Cooper's office is spacious and spartan, if not clinical. Apart from the burgundy couch, the office desk that is big enough for King Arthur's knights, and the leather executive's chair, everything else in the office is white. Well, except for the exquisite paintings on the wall by the door—a mosaic of greys and blues interspersed with bold black etchings. The drawings are breathtaking.

"Frank Miller," says Dr. Cooper, noticing my gaze. "Pages 6, 7, and 8 from _The Dark Knight Returns_."

"Amazing. So simple and yet so life-like."

"I couldn't agree more, Ms. Steele. Batman can do no wrong."

I feel a flash of heat in my cheeks. In a panic, I reach into my satchel for Kate's list of questions. Next I set up the mini-disc recorder, fumbling it twice on the coffee table. My cell phone rings—always at the worst possible time. I dismiss the call and look up at Dr. Cooper. He is gazing intently at me, his hands folded on his desk, his eyes perfectly still. He has a deadpan expression on his face. I can't tell if he is suppressing a smile or trying to force one.

"I'm sorry," I say, "I'm not used to this."

"Of course not. You're an English student."

"May I record your answers?"

"You ask me that now—after you went through all that trouble setting up that recorder? Surely, it would have made much more sense if you had asked me that before. I'm surprised someone who takes English literature can even operate a disc re—I mean, I don't mind."

Dr. Cooper slinks into his chair a little. "You do know what this interview is for, do you?" he asks.

"Uh …" Quintuple crap.

"Really Ms. Steele? You waltz into my office with no prior interviewing experience and no knowledge of the objective of this interview. Ms. Steele, you really ought to be questioning your decision making process. Someone could really take advantage of you."

I find myself temporarily pre-occupied with the idea of Dr. Cooper taking advantage of me. I bite my lip, dragging my attention to the task at hand.

"Well," continues Dr. Cooper, "You should be glad that at least one of us is prepared." He wiggles in his chair a little. "You see, your school has arranged this little interview since I will be conferring the degrees in this year's graduation ceremonies. The whole thing seems completely preposterous, of course, seeing as I have no affiliation with your school and UCSD isn't exactly renowned for its physics program. This entire arrangement is as contrived as the ending of the first Jurassic Park movie."

"I couldn't agree more." I'm just gaga at the thought of someone so young, so rich, and so skinny, handing me my diploma. "May I ask you a few questions?"

"I would certainly hope so," says Dr. Cooper. "But then again, given your credentials, I shouldn't assume you know how a basic interview works."

I take a deep breath and arch my back, trying to look professional. I begin recording.

"Dr. Cooper, you are the fifth youngest person in history to win the Nobel Prize in physics. Since then, you have built a a great financial empire. To what do you owe your success?"

Seriously, I have no idea what this guy does for a living. Something about aerospace or manufacturing or something. Damn you Kate for not telling me.

"Oh, my success comes from having a really great team."

I pause for a moment, waiting for Dr. Cooper to go on. But nothing is forthcoming.

"Is that all?"

"Yes. I have a very good team that does exactly as I say. I make all my decisions based on sound logic and hard facts. The members of my team, or my minions as they are officially coined, understand that their mental capacities are not only inferior to mine but are also muddled by their baser human emotions, rendering them far less capable at running a multibillion dollar corporation. And thus I make all the decisions, my team follows them, and we make money."

"Some would say you're just lucky," I blurt out. That wasn't one of Kate's questions, but I can't help it. He's so bloody arrogant. And sexy. So bloody sexy.

"Hardly. Sheldon Cooper doesn't get lucky."

"Maybe you're a control freak."

"Oh I exercise control in all things, Ms. Steele: my mind, my emotions, my body. That's what separates me from common folk such as yourself. My immense power comes from my belief in my birthright to possess things. And with great power comes great responsibility."

"Do you feel powerful, Dr. Cooper?" I gawk at Dr. Cooper's gaunt frame. What's gotten into me?

"I employ over fifty thousand people, Ms. Steele, of course I feel powerful. If you guys were the inventors of Facebook, you would've invented Facebook."

"Um… don't you have to answer to a board or something?"

"I don't have to. I'm Batman."

He raises an eyebrow at me and I blush. How was it that I agreed to do this without doing any research? In haste, I change topics.

"Do you have any interests outside of work, Dr. Cooper?"

"I suppose," says Dr. Cooper, almost sheepishly. "My interests are varied, Ms. Steele, varied and plentiful, plentiful and bountiful, bountiful and many." His eyes seem alight with some wicked thought.

"You seem like a workaholic. What do you do to chill out?"

"Chill out?" scoffs Dr. Cooper. "What does Dr. Sheldon Cooper do to 'chill out'? I am a very wealthy man, Ms. Steele. The things I do to 'chill out', Ms. Steele, are expensive and absorbing."

"Such as?"

"I ride trains."

I gasp. Oh my God, that's so impressive. I peruse Kate's list of questions, hoping to get off the subject.

"Why invest in aerospace engineering, Dr. Cooper?"

"I have an old acquaintance who works for NASA. The poor fellow fancies himself a scientist even though he's really just a meagre engineer without so much as a Ph.D. He's married with a child and he needs money. So, what can I say? I'm a philanthropist."

"Sounds like you've been following your heart and not your logic."

Dr. Cooper squints appraisingly at me. "Some say I don't have a heart."

"And why would they say that?"

"I presume because they lack a basic understanding of the human anatomy."

"What would your friends say about you?"

"I haven't been in touch with my friends for some time. I'm a very private person."

I swallow hard. I don't know if it's just me or if the temperature in the room is rising to unbearable levels. I want this interview to be over. But yet I don't want it to stop.

"Do you have a philosophy, Dr. Cooper?"

"Carpe diem."

"Fascinating," I say. "Tell me more."

"It's the only logical course of action, given that it's only a matter of time before someone invents a time machine that could force you into a time paradox. I don't like that. I like control—of myself and of those around me."

I catch the slightest hint of a wink in Dr. Cooper's eye. I suppress a gasp. Surely Kate has no more questions—

"You were raised in Galveston, Texas. Your father was an alcoholic. How do think your upbringing has shaped you?" Damn it Kate! This is personal stuff. I really should read the questions first before blurting them out.

"Who's to say," says Dr. Cooper with a straight face.

"You seem to be out of touch with your family and friends."

"That's not a question, Ms. Steele. And for a while there I thought you were starting to get the basics of an interview." He's terse.

"Sorry." I squirm. "Are you gay?"

Sextuple crap! Stop doing that! He's so sexy.

"No Anastasia, I am not," says Dr. Sheldon Cooper. There's is a stark coldness in his eyes.

"I apologize, I'm just reading off Kate's list of questions." I'm just flabbergasted that he referred to me by my first name. Feels so intimate.

"You mean you hadn't even read the questions before coming here? My my my Ms. Steele, I'm sorry to say I'm beginning to worry about the future of journalism. Did you volunteer for this interview?"

Oh and we're back to this Ms. Steele thing. Who's interviewing who here?

There's a knock on the door, and Aami enters.

"Dr. Cooper, pardon my interruption, but my occupational duty requires me to inform you that your next meeting will commence in two minutes."

"We're not done here," says Dr. Cooper. "Cancel my next meeting."

Aami stands there for a moment, her mouth parted, her arms drooping. She seems completely lost, unsure of what to do next. Thank God I'm not the only one.

"Very well, Dr. Cooper," says Aami brusquely before exiting the office.

Dr. Cooper shifts his angular body towards me. I feel a jolt of electricity surge through me as he penetrates me with his cold hard stare.

"I'm sorry that this interview went longer than expected," I manage to say. I have no idea how this interview could've taken so long considering how little material I gathered.

"Nonsense," says Dr. Cooper. "I want to know about you, Ms. Steele. It's only fair, considering all the mundane questions you had asked me these past little while. Quid pro quo, Ms. Steele."

Octuple crap! He's interested in me … "There's not much to know …"

"What are your plans after graduation, assuming your intention is to graduate?"

I shrug. I haven't thought much about my future. I'm pretty sure I'm going to get drunk this weekend. Beyond that, I really don't know.

"No plans … I'm just hoping to pass my final exams."

"Considering how unprepared you were for this interview it's of no wonder you have no job prospects," says Dr. Cooper. "Luckily, we have an excellent internship program here."

"Oh," I chuckle. Is he offering me a job? "I won't fit in here." Damn verbal diarrhea.

"Why would you say that? I think you'd fit in here perfectly. You follow orders without giving things a second thought. You're utterly and completely mindless. Just the type of employee I'm looking for."

I tear myself away from Dr. Sheldon Cooper's intense glare and gaze down on my half-chewed fingernails. My stomach muscles clench, ready to eject my lunch in a moment's notice. I feel hyperventilation setting in.

"I really should go now," I say. My words sounded more like a sigh. "Thank you for the interview, Dr. Cooper."

We rise at the same time as though for a moment our minds are completely in sync. Dr. Cooper extends his long bony hand.

"Till we meet again, Ms. Steele." There is a spark of energy in his voice, as though issuing me a challenge. Will we ever meet again? Probably not, at least not until the graduation. Unless he's an utter and complete psycho who likes stalking people. One can hope …

Dr. Cooper lithely ambles to the door and holds it open for me.

"Thank you, Dr. Cooper," I say.

"Just making sure you make it through the door this time."

I chuckle.

"I don't want you to fall on your face again."

"How—considerate of you," I gasp. Stop teasing me. You know I have absolutely no self esteem whatsoever. I stomp out of the office as quickly as I can and race towards the elevator. I press the down button and breathe a sigh of relief.

"Ms. Steele." Dr. Cooper is suddenly standing behind me.

"Yes?"

"Would you like a hot beverage? You didn't answer me the first time."

The elevator doors open and I practically sprint inside. I need to get out of here, away from this utterly gorgeous male specimen standing before me who is eying me with fierce intensity, offering me a hot drink. So hot … so very very hot.

"Sheldon …" I mutter.

"Anastasia Steele … Seriously, what is the deal with your name?"

Mercifully, the doors close.


End file.
